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“Sponge bath kind?” I note the laughter in her voice.
I turn my head in her direction. “Do you know how fucking embarrassing it is to wake up and be told people have been washing you, wiping your ass, and cutting your fucking toenails for the last month?”
She scrunches her nose. “Jesus. I never thought of it. I do know she was extra attentive.”
She rolls her lips between her teeth to keep from laughing.
“It’s not funny. It doesn’t matter how much I’d like to ask her out sometime. She literally changed my fucking diaper.”
Rivet bends at the waist, laughter pouring from her lips. I shove her, but even as she falls off the bench, her ass hitting the concrete with a grunt, she keeps laughing.
A chuckle bubbles up from my own throat, and I lift a hand to wave at Sunshine when she looks over in our direction.
She doesn’t even manage a fake smile this time.
It’s several long minutes before Rivet stops laughing, and I’m sure if I didn’t notice Sunshine looking upset, I’d have laughed a little harder too.
“Why don’t you come back to the clubhouse?” she asks once she calms down enough to form words.
I keep my eyes locked on the back door Sunshine disappeared through, and I never answer Rivet’s question.
I don’t exactly want to stay here, but I can’t see myself there just yet either.
Chapter 15
Sunshine
I’ve avoided his room since I finally made it to work. Since someone else had also called in sick today, I was asked many questions when I arrived halfway through my shift.
The man makes me want to spill my guts, to lay all my problems at his feet. I don’t think he can solve them, but it has been nice to talk the last couple of days and have someone at least partially listen rather than interrupting me like my mother always does.
I saw Rivet sitting outside with him earlier, and I promptly turned around and went in the opposite direction when I noticed them later in the lobby together. I was jealous of her and the smiles I saw on both their faces outside earlier. I can’t recall a time when I’ve ever felt free enough to laugh so hard it draws others’ attention.
She may be with someone else, but there’s a friendship filled with love between the two of them.
I take a deep breath before lifting my hand to knock on the door.
I’ve stayed over to help with the dinner service because now more than ever, I can’t miss out on any money.
I could easily just slide his plate in front of him if the man ever decided to join everyone else in the dining room, but he’s stubborn and has requested his meals in his room. It shouldn’t irritate me. The man has a right to choose where he wants to eat as much as every other resident here.
I knock on the door again, too annoyed to even wait for him to answer before shoving it open so hard, I nearly topple the entire tray to the floor.
“Fuck,” I mutter when I somehow manage to catch it before making a mess.
“Still feeling poorly?” he asks as I approach.
He’s not in bed, which is a good thing. He’s sitting in the chair with the television on but the volume low.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, dropping the tray to the table with a little more force than necessary. I slide the table in his direction, keeping my eyes anywhere but on him as I lower it enough that he can reach the food.
“Hey,” he says, reaching for my hand but I pull it back quick enough to avoid his touch. “If you don’t feel well you shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m fine,” I repeat because there’s no way I can tell him about my horrific night. I can’t tell him I went home and tore into my mother without a care, resulting in her kicking me out of her house with barely enough time to pack a couple suitcases worth of belongings before she called the cops on me.
I’ll never forgive her for what she’s done. I haven’t seen Ryder in nearly twenty-four hours, and I’ve never gone this long without seeing him. It’s ripping me apart from the inside.
“I’ll be back to get your tray in a little while,” I tell him and turn for the door.
“Sunshine.”
I spin around, ready to tell him to fuck off and mind his own damn business, but my eyes drop to his hand. He’s reaching for the lid to the tray covering his plate of soft food.
“Shit,” I say, rushing toward him. “I’m sorry.”
He clasps my hand before I can lift the tray from his table, but he doesn’t say a word. He’s offering comfort without prying, and it’s the most generous thing anyone has done for me in a very long time. My heart threatens to shatter even more than it already has, but there’s something about his touch that manages to hold it together somehow.
